Forget me nots are his flower I will not take criticism. Also deer motif has nothing compared to Arthur Morgan dog motif. That man is a hound through and through
if you support israel right now, you're supporting the extermination of the palestinian people.
it really is that simple.
this isn't a 'complicated conflict,' it isn't a situation that 'requires nuance,' it's not a 'geopolitical event' that requires us to condemn the 'bad actors' on 'both sides.'
it's a genocide.
there is no 'nuance' to be had here. it's a genocide, committed by the israeli state against the palestinian people, and it's happening right now as we speak. you don't have to infer anything: israel has openly, with next to no pushback from so-called liberal democracies, cut off gaza's access to water, food and electricity. that's more than two million palestinians denied even the basic necessities for life. a million of them, children.
what is that, if not a genocide?
and that's only the latest escalation. we could go all day, listing the atrocities the palestinian people have been subjected to. the killings, the beatings, the children sexually abused in detention center, all the hospitals and ambulances being blown up, videos of palestinians being heckled by settlers as they're driven from their homes, israelis gathering on hilltops to cheer as their military drops bombs on gaza...
but all westerns want to talk about, is hamas.
because the murder of palestinians by the IDF is status quo; it doesn't affect them. what's one more dead palestinian but a statistic? but if hamas has killed a handful of israelis — if they've go as far as to even kill babies — then that justifies the extermination of two million palestinians, children and infants included.
westerns will even say that the palestinians brought it on themselves; that they should have know that a drop of israeli blood requires a river in return.
and just so we're clear, you don't have to like hamas. but when you equate hamas with the IDF, when you derail every conversation by demanding a condemnation of 'both sides,' or when you, god forbid, agree that israel is justified in dismantling hamas — which, as israel themselves have outlined, will involve the complete destruction of gaza and the murder of hundreds of thousands of civilians — then either wake up, or own up to the fact that you're a participant in the extermination of the palestinian people.
do you think i'm being harsh? then imagine how it's like living under constant aerial bombardment. with no food, no water, no electricity. constant air-raid sirens. a bomb, dropping every minute. never knowing a moment a peace, always wondering if today is going to be your last day, if you and your family are still going to be here tomorrow.
could you stomach living in gaza, for even a day? i doubt it.
and still, now, on the eve of what might be the ground invasion of gaza — with one million palestinians being told to flee, with nowhere to go — i'm getting messages from people who demand my sympathy... for israel.
well, you're not getting it.
i'm not even humoring your hand-wringing.
if you live in israel, and you're one of the ones who've turned a blind-eye to the suffering of the palestinian people, if you've fought for the IDF or tacitly supported them, if you've callously called upon the memory of the holocaust thinking the death and suffering of your ancestors would wash the blood of your own hands....
then yeah, i think you deserve every single hamas rocked lobbed at you and so much more.
Summary: You left and you horribly wish he would’ve forced you to stay.
Pairing: Trevor Philips x AFAB!Reader, Franklin Clinton x AFAB!Reader
Warnings: Smut, Sexual Content, Possessiveness, Fuckbuddies, Unhealthy Relationship, Average GTA Stuff
November 16th, 2017.
It was easy to regret not catching a ride back to Los Santos with Franklin in his sexy white Bravado Buffalo S.
Regret is easy, regret you know. Regret can grow and grow it does as you make eye contact with the hillbilly jacking off next to the icebox in front of the Yellow Jack Inn.
After a couple of days gallivanting around the desert shit-pile that was Sandy Shores, Franklin deemed that your weed-fuelled, fuck-filled adventures had reached a necessary end.
Despite his intriguing offers of more shenanigans and freaky sex once you both got back home, you weren’t all that keen on leaving the town of meth production and Republican rednecks just yet.
“M’gonna go see him,” you sighed, resting your head back against the stained motel pillow.
Moments before, as Franklin had fucked you raw into the cheap motel mattress, you were met with the smell of blood and piss and cum as your face was shoved into the shitty cushion.
Despite the abysmal scent, the man was taking you so good and so fuckin’ hard, you couldn’t force yourself to care.
Now though, as you laid sated in your post-climax glow of sweat and semen, the smell against your cheek served as an unignorable reminder of your still bleeding heart.
That man, that asshole, that meth-head-Trevor-Philips-piece-of-fucking-shit—goddamnit.
You still hopelessly, stupidly, selfishly loved him. The fucked kind of love.
Always caked in blood, smelling like piss after running off to get high and grinning like an evil bitch as he came all over your chin and tits. The smell of the Derelict Motel—the sheets, the pillow, the musty air—was all just a nauseating reminder of how much you missed him.
Your therapist was gonna kill you.
“You know that ain’t a good idea,” Franklin murmured, running his thumb over the plushness of your bottom lip.
Your eyes met his and you couldn’t help but shiver at the way he looked at you, his gaze so soft and so full of adoration.
He made you feel like you weren't just a burning shitpile of flesh, bones, and substance abuse issues.
Frank is a good friend, a great man, a nice fuck. He was always there to bring you back down to Earth. He was so easy to love and you sure as shit loved him a whole lot. Beautiful fuckin’ man. “He ain’t right in the head about you.”
“We both know he ain’t right the head about nothin’,” you argued, leaning your body over his. Beautiful man.
“And he’s a big boy. He can take it. Whatever I wanna throw at him.” Your legs quickly became tangled, Frank’s hands resting over your hips as you smiled and played with his chest hair. “He can fuck all the people he wants, but I can’t touch or look or fuckin' breathe around anyone but him? He’s a fuckin’ ass.”
“He fell for you, girl. T’s always been crazy an’ possessive, his shit ain’t nothin’ new.” Franklin snuggled your body closer to his, sighing softly as he pressed his face into the warm crevice of your neck.
He couldn’t control himself, not when he had you like this. You were so hot and so sweet and just so fucking delicious.
Shit.
His lips lingered over the sensitive spot at the base of your throat, his tongue reaching out to tease a fading bruise. He did that. He made that. He marked you.
Fuck.
He groaned as you gave him easier access by raising your chin, letting him worship you like the real fuckin’ princess he always thought you were.
“He was fuckin’ paranoid and possessive in all the worst fuckin’ ways, Frank. I fuckin’ hate him for how he acted when I said I was leavin’ but I still...miss him.” You hummed softly as you felt Franklin’s lips suck right over your pulse point, his teeth just brushing over your delicate skin.
You held down the urge to beg him to bite you.
“Yeah, you miss him, but ain’t nothin’ gonna be solved if you both end up killin’ each other...or fuckin’ each other,” Frank breathed roughly against the shell of your ear as his hand wandered across your stomach and down to your aching clit.
He immediately preened at your wetness and teased the bundle of nerves with soft, circular motions. You gasped as you felt his cock harden and twitch against your thigh, begging for your pretty fucking attention.
He grinned and quickly shoved a finger into your cunt, making you moan and writhe oh so beautifully against him. “Jus’ come back home with me, baby…”
You could barely solidify your thoughts, whimpering like you were.
His motions were so smooth and perfect and rhythmic. Frank was good at a lot of things, but you considered his talent of fucking you mindless as one of his top three.
You immediately felt your wetness start to leak down your thighs. “If he still isn’t over it...I’ll fuck off, hitch a ride, meet you back at your place…yeah?”
“Yeah, baby,” he gripped your throat just how you like and shoved another finger into you, leaving you mewling and squirming in his grasp. You reached for him, hard and thick in your palm, and squeezed.
The best girl.
If you were parting ways, Franklin was gonna have you one last time. He understood Trevor’s possessiveness. You were great company, a great fuck, a great woman.
Addicting, hell blazing, heavenly—you were everything. So fuck yeah, he was gonna have you as many times as he possibly could. “Lemme take care of you, babygirl, then you’ll be all good to go.”
The Yellow Jack Inn has never been known for its posh customers or regular demonstrations of human decency, but a man jacking it in front of such a fine all-American establishment is still a sight you couldn’t have properly braced yourself for.
As the ash of your blunt falls to the dirt, your eyes stay transfixed on the man by the icebox as he lets out a disturbing howl and drops to the ground.
His pants are stained, his dick disgusting and soft. He lets out a series of groans as he turns to lie flat on his stomach, his cock scraping against the sand.
Jesus H. Christ. What a charmer.
You manage to twist away from the scene in repugnance and perhaps a more sinister part of you in mild delight, settling yourself in the alley next to the bar.
You restlessly attempt to settle yourself against the brick, picking at its shoddy green paint job before you begin rolling another blunt.
You’re stalling. Like a little bitch. It's embarrassing how much a man can turn you into such a conniving fickle coward. Perhaps not just any man. Your paranoid fuckin’ shitshow of a somewhat ex-lover.
Embarrassing. Unbecoming. Completely mindfucked.
You know Trevor’s inside. He’s an enigma, a loud, idiot one at that. Over the noise of clanked bottles and shitty laughter, you can hear him.
Stupid, how much of him you can hear. And see. And smell. And understand. In everything and anywhere and with anyone. He never leaves you even when he’s left you. He never leaves you even when you've left him. He’s a parasite that you’ve coddled, and cared for, and loved and fucked.
The timber of his voice warms you in a special, fucked up kind of way. It’s familiar and it’s settling and it kills you to know that he’s spent fourteen months ridding you of it. Of him. His clinical insanity has rubbed off on you beautifully. You left and you horribly wish he would’ve forced you to stay.
God.
Would he kill you? Kiss you? Fuck you? You’re still stalling.
Maybe all three?
Being the oil to a homicidal cannibal’s match, you could never really know what the fuck you were gonna get. You anticipate an explosion, but you’re clueless to its degree.
You pocket your blunt, walk over the man with his dick in the sand, and open the door to the biggest health hazard in California.
Chapter 2
a/n: found this oldie from 2021 that i was in the mood to refresh & post! i haven't written in literal years, be nice to me! also, happy ten years to this stupid fucking game. i love u. i feel old (i'm not) and i'm tired (constantly) and i hope you enjoyed (lie to me if you didn't) :3
✧ masterlist ✧ ao3 ✧ send me an ask / let's chat! ✧
Summary: You left and you horribly wish he would’ve forced you to stay.
Pairing: Trevor Philips x AFAB!Reader, Franklin Clinton x AFAB!Reader
Warnings: Smut, Sexual Content, Possessiveness, Fuckbuddies, Unhealthy Relationship, Average GTA Stuff
November 16th, 2017.
It was easy to regret not catching a ride back to Los Santos with Franklin in his sexy white Bravado Buffalo S.
Regret is easy, regret you know. Regret can grow and grow it does as you make eye contact with the hillbilly jacking off next to the icebox in front of the Yellow Jack Inn.
After a couple of days gallivanting around the desert shit-pile that was Sandy Shores, Franklin deemed that your weed-fuelled, fuck-filled adventures had reached a necessary end.
Despite his intriguing offers of more shenanigans and freaky sex once you both got back home, you weren’t all that keen on leaving the town of meth production and Republican rednecks just yet.
“M’gonna go see him,” you sighed, resting your head back against the stained motel pillow.
Moments before, as Franklin had fucked you raw into the cheap motel mattress, you were met with the smell of blood and piss and cum as your face was shoved into the shitty cushion.
Despite the abysmal scent, the man was taking you so good and so fuckin’ hard, you couldn’t force yourself to care.
Now though, as you laid sated in your post-climax glow of sweat and semen, the smell against your cheek served as an unignorable reminder of your still bleeding heart.
That man, that asshole, that meth-head-Trevor-Philips-piece-of-fucking-shit—goddamnit.
You still hopelessly, stupidly, selfishly loved him. The fucked kind of love.
Always caked in blood, smelling like piss after running off to get high and grinning like an evil bitch as he came all over your chin and tits. The smell of the Derelict Motel—the sheets, the pillow, the musty air—was all just a nauseating reminder of how much you missed him.
Your therapist was gonna kill you.
“You know that ain’t a good idea,” Franklin murmured, running his thumb over the plushness of your bottom lip.
Your eyes met his and you couldn’t help but shiver at the way he looked at you, his gaze so soft and so full of adoration.
He made you feel like you weren't just a burning shitpile of flesh, bones, and substance abuse issues.
Frank is a good friend, a great man, a nice fuck. He was always there to bring you back down to Earth. He was so easy to love and you sure as shit loved him a whole lot. Beautiful fuckin’ man. “He ain’t right in the head about you.”
“We both know he ain’t right the head about nothin’,” you argued, leaning your body over his. Beautiful man.
“And he’s a big boy. He can take it. Whatever I wanna throw at him.” Your legs quickly became tangled, Frank’s hands resting over your hips as you smiled and played with his chest hair. “He can fuck all the people he wants, but I can’t touch or look or fuckin' breathe around anyone but him? He’s a fuckin’ ass.”
“He fell for you, girl. T’s always been crazy an’ possessive, his shit ain’t nothin’ new.” Franklin snuggled your body closer to his, sighing softly as he pressed his face into the warm crevice of your neck.
He couldn’t control himself, not when he had you like this. You were so hot and so sweet and just so fucking delicious.
Shit.
His lips lingered over the sensitive spot at the base of your throat, his tongue reaching out to tease a fading bruise. He did that. He made that. He marked you.
Fuck.
He groaned as you gave him easier access by raising your chin, letting him worship you like the real fuckin’ princess he always thought you were.
“He was fuckin’ paranoid and possessive in all the worst fuckin’ ways, Frank. I fuckin’ hate him for how he acted when I said I was leavin’ but I still...miss him.” You hummed softly as you felt Franklin’s lips suck right over your pulse point, his teeth just brushing over your delicate skin.
You held down the urge to beg him to bite you.
“Yeah, you miss him, but ain’t nothin’ gonna be solved if you both end up killin’ each other...or fuckin’ each other,” Frank breathed roughly against the shell of your ear as his hand wandered across your stomach and down to your aching clit.
He immediately preened at your wetness and teased the bundle of nerves with soft, circular motions. You gasped as you felt his cock harden and twitch against your thigh, begging for your pretty fucking attention.
He grinned and quickly shoved a finger into your cunt, making you moan and writhe oh so beautifully against him. “Jus’ come back home with me, baby…”
You could barely solidify your thoughts, whimpering like you were.
His motions were so smooth and perfect and rhythmic. Frank was good at a lot of things, but you considered his talent of fucking you mindless as one of his top three.
You immediately felt your wetness start to leak down your thighs. “If he still isn’t over it...I’ll fuck off, hitch a ride, meet you back at your place…yeah?”
“Yeah, baby,” he gripped your throat just how you like and shoved another finger into you, leaving you mewling and squirming in his grasp. You reached for him, hard and thick in your palm, and squeezed.
The best girl.
If you were parting ways, Franklin was gonna have you one last time. He understood Trevor’s possessiveness. You were great company, a great fuck, a great woman.
Addicting, hell blazing, heavenly—you were everything. So fuck yeah, he was gonna have you as many times as he possibly could. “Lemme take care of you, babygirl, then you’ll be all good to go.”
The Yellow Jack Inn has never been known for its posh customers or regular demonstrations of human decency, but a man jacking it in front of such a fine all-American establishment is still a sight you couldn’t have properly braced yourself for.
As the ash of your blunt falls to the dirt, your eyes stay transfixed on the man by the icebox as he lets out a disturbing howl and drops to the ground.
His pants are stained, his dick disgusting and soft. He lets out a series of groans as he turns to lie flat on his stomach, his cock scraping against the sand.
Jesus H. Christ. What a charmer.
You manage to twist away from the scene in repugnance and perhaps a more sinister part of you in mild delight, settling yourself in the alley next to the bar.
You restlessly attempt to calm yourself against the brick, picking at its shoddy green paint job before you begin rolling another blunt.
You’re stalling. Like a little bitch. It's embarrassing how much a man can turn you into such a conniving fickle coward. Perhaps not just any man. Your paranoid fuckin’ shitshow of a somewhat ex-lover.
Embarrassing. Unbecoming. Completely mindfucked.
You know Trevor’s inside. He’s an enigma, a loud, idiot one at that. Over the noise of clanked bottles and shitty laughter, you can hear him.
Stupid, how much of him you can hear. And see. And smell. And understand. In everything and anywhere and with anyone. He never leaves you even when he’s left you. He never leaves you even when you've left him. He’s a parasite that you’ve coddled, and cared for, and loved and fucked.
The timber of his voice warms you in a special, fucked up kind of way. It’s familiar and it’s settling and it kills you to know that he’s spent fourteen months ridding you of it. Of him. His clinical insanity has rubbed off on you beautifully. You left and you horribly wish he would’ve forced you to stay.
God.
Would he kill you? Kiss you? Fuck you? You’re still stalling.
Maybe all three?
Being the oil to a homicidal cannibal’s match, you could never really know what the fuck you were gonna get. You anticipate an explosion, but you’re clueless to its degree.
You pocket your blunt, walk over the man with his dick in the sand, and open the door to the biggest health hazard in California.
Chapter 2
a/n: found this oldie from 2021 that i was in the mood to refresh & post! i haven't written in literal years, be nice to me! also, happy ten years to this stupid fucking game. i love u. i feel old (i'm not) and i'm tired (constantly) and i hope you enjoyed (lie to me if you didn't) :3
✧ masterlist ✧ ao3 ✧ send me an ask / let's chat! ✧
Succession (2018-2023) ~ Nobody Is Ever Missing, This Is Not For Tears, All The Bells Say, With Open Eyes \\\ Saturn Devouring His Son - Francisco Goya, The Taking of Christ - Carravaggio, Stańczyk - Jan Matejko, Love's Shadow - Frederick Sandys
gummygunk
blakekathryn
tangentwithtanner
theartofmadeline
pixelskylines
origamiaround
kaledo-art
titsay
germansingergirl
